


What We Pretend to Be

by hollyandvice (hiasobi_writes)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Christmas, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Family Issues, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:54:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28330473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiasobi_writes/pseuds/hollyandvice
Summary: "Oh, good. Look, I saw the ad, and I don't know how serious you are, but I will totally take you up on it."Steve blinks. "Come again?""My dad's a dick, and I'd just as soon set him straight on how not-straight I am this Christmas. He made enough fuss about my ‘tendencies’ at Thanksgiving and I don't want to hear it anymore."Wherein Steve accidentally signs up to be Tony's fake boyfriend at Christmas, and doesn't realize which Tony he's dealing with until too late.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 44
Kudos: 309





	What We Pretend to Be

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a prompt from the POTS server from [this link](https://hollyandvice.tumblr.com/post/638534155890737152/orchidbreezefc-its-that-time-of-year). Title from a Kurt Vonnegut quote.
> 
> Thanks to the folks on the POTS server for encouraging this. Thanks especially. to Kait for the cheer read early on. This is unbeta'ed because I'm super impatient and I wanted it posted while it was still Christmas SOMEWHERE. (Here. It's still Christmas here.)
> 
> Enjoy!!

Steve isn't entirely sure how he got here. He's walking out of a limo in front of a towering mansion in front of him with a beautiful boy at his side and for all that this is what he signed up for, yet he's never felt more out of place. He swallows thickly and straightens his shirt. It's not that Tony's been anything but gracious, but that doesn't necessarily mean that Steve's set up to do this any better than he was a week ago. On top of that, for all that he wants to blame this on Clint, he really can't. This is his own fault. There's no one to blame but himself.

* * *

"Clint. Your phone."

Clint swears, and something crashes down the hall. Steve winces.

"Everything okay back there, Clint?"

"Fine, fine, can you just answer the phone?

Steve lifts the phone, frowning at the number. "You sure? It's not anyone you know."

"Yeah, yeah, it's probably someone answering the ad."

"Ad?"

"Just answer the phone!"

Steve unlocks Clint's phone, lifting it to his good ear. "Hello?"

"Yeah, hi, is this Hawkeye?"

Steve rolls his eyes. "It's his phone, who's asking?"

"Oh, good. Look, I saw the ad, and I don't know how serious you are, but I will totally take you up on it."

Steve blinks. "Come again?"

"My dad's a dick, and I'd just as soon set him straight on how not-straight I am this Christmas. He made enough fuss about my ‘tendencies’ at Thanksgiving and I don't want to hear it anymore."

Steve's heart twists in his chest. He'd been lucky enough to dodge that particular bullet with his mother, but he knows he's among the lucky ones in that sense. Still, he's not entirely sure why this person is calling Clint to talk about his issues, or what ad he's supposedly talking about, but there's got to be something to this that he's missing. "Listen, there must be some mistake—"

"Is it because I'm a guy? Because I know you said you didn't need money, but I'm happy to pay if that makes a difference in all of this."

"I don't need—"

"Come on, everyone has a price."

Steve bristles at the implication, but hesitates before his pride can get ahead of him. Between Clint's hearing aids going out last month and the heating bill they've probably racked up with the issues with Bucky's arm, money's plenty tight. "Just to be clear," Steve says, "you want me to...?"

"Be my fake boyfriend for the Christmas holiday. Look, dude, I know you said you don't have a lot of education, but you're the one that put the ad out. Now, name your price."

Steve bites his lip. He knows this guy was probably looking for Clint, who, for all that Steve has his suspicions about the man, has always claimed to be straight as an arrow. Maybe Clint would be into it, maybe he wouldn't, so the question is: what would Steve himself ask for something like this? Because if Clint doesn't bite, Steve's going to have to follow through.

He names a number. Nothing too outrageous, but enough that if this guy is as loaded as he's implying, it could cover three months of his and Bucky's share of the rent. "Half up front and half when we get back."

The man laughs. "Cupcake, I'll double that if you actually propose to me at dinner."

Steve's stomach twists. "You got a ring? Because I sure don't."

He laughs again. "Oh, I like you. Bring your A-game and something nice to wear to Christmas dinner. This is gonna be _fun_."

The line disconnects before Steve can say anything more. He's still staring at it when Clint finally makes his way around the corner. "Who was on the phone?"

Steve shakes off the stupor. "Someone about an ad?"

Clint's face brightens. "Ooh, did she sound hot?"

"Not that I can figure out something like that over the phone, but _he_ sounded positively delightful, if a bit overzealous."

Clint's face falls. "You didn't—"

"Just tell me what you promised in the damn ad. I've got it."

"What? What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means the guy offered me a couple grand and I figure we need that right about now."

Clint's eyes widen. "Damn. Alright, then, you do you."

"Just tell me what you promised in the ad, alright? I want to know what I've gotten myself into."

A look of absolute glee spreads over Clint's face. "Oh, this is going to be _epic_."

* * *

Which is what got him here, in front of this damn mansion with a damningly beautiful boy at his side, who's putting on a pair of sunglasses despite the setting sun. Steve frowns.

"What are those for?"

The man — Tony — turns to look at him, tilting the sunglasses down so he can peer at Steve over them. "Sunglasses."

"I know _that_ ," Steve snaps. "I just don't know why you're putting them on _now_."

Tony pulls the sunglasses back up and looks away. "Because. Now, let's get this show on the fucking road."

Steve follows Tony up the walk, staying half a step behind him. He'd known that Tony was loaded after their initial conversation, but this place blows _loaded_ out of the water. Steve wants desperately to ask what, exactly, Tony's parents do, but he figures he's supposed to already know that if they're— Well. If they're pretending to be boyfriends.

Tony's already at the door, and Steve hustles to follow behind him, both of their bags in his hands. Tony's is unreasonably heavy; Steve had seen what the airline had charged him to load it on the plane. But Tony hadn't even looked at the number, handing his card across without a second look. It had made Steve a little sick to see that much money going to something like luggage, but he hadn't said anything. There's enough riding on him pulling this off that he really can't afford to say anything.

So he doesn't.

The door swings open, revealing a woman that bears a striking resemblance to Tony. She has the same bright eyes, the same dark hair, the same shrewd intelligence in her face. But her features soften when she sets eyes on Tony, and she pulls him into a hug. "Tony. Welcome home."

Tony buries himself in her arms, and for the first time in years, Steve's heart aches for his own mother. "Hi, Mama."

Steve shifts, suddenly uncomfortable, and that's all it takes to pull the woman's attention to him. "And who's this, Tony? I thought you said you were bringing Rhodey."

"I said I was bringing a friend." All at once those walls go back up, and Steve's back to staring at the guy that had ignored him in favor of engineering textbooks the whole flight here. "Mama, this is Steve. He's my boyfriend."

Steve catches the surprise in her face, though she covers it quickly. "I see."

Steve sets his bag down on the step and stands a little straighter. "Steve Rogers, ma'am." He holds a hand out. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

She eyes him thoughtfully before reaching out and taking his hand. "Please, dear, call me Maria. Ex-military?"

Steve blinks. Folks don't usually catch on that fast; he may not be the best adjusted out of their little team, but he hides it the best. "Yes, ma'am."

"Army?"

"Yes ma'am. Two tours and an honorable discharge," he adds before she can ask.

She nods thoughtfully before turning back to Tony. "Well, why don't you show Steve to his room and help him get settled."

"Mama—"

"I'm not having this fight with you right now, Tony. You want to do that with your father, you go right ahead, but I'm not going to pick a side."

Tony sighs as his mother walks away, waving them into the house. He's half-turned to grab his bag before he realizes that Steve's already picked it up again. He frowns. "You don't have to—"

Steve leans in, pretending to press a kiss to Tony's temple. "Yes I do," he whispers.

Tony makes a little sound, and when Steve pulls back, his eyes are wide behind his sunglasses. He recovers quickly, though, and glances over Steve's shoulder. His expression warms the way it had when the limo had pulled up to collect them from the airport. "Well, Jarvis," he says. "How inclined are you to indulge me right about now?"

"I daresay you already know the answer to that, sir."

Tony smirks, and he goes up on tiptoe, actually kissing the corner of Steve's mouth rather than just pretending. "Come on. I'll show you my room."

The winding staircase to the second floor leaves Steve just as intimidated as he had been by the house. He's not so much regretting this as suddenly realizing just how far in over his head he is.

"This is us."

Steve's eyes snap from the vaulted ceilings down to Tony. He's got that cocky grin back on his face — the one that he'd worn as he'd given Steve a leering once-over when they'd met on MIT’s campus just to make sure they'd be a good fit. That had been Steve's idea, and he certainly isn't regretting it now, because at least then he'd had an inkling of what he was getting himself into. Without that, he'd have run from the sight of the first-class seats that had awaited them on the plane.

Here, though. Here Tony just looks like the boy his buddy Rhodes had been trying to protect that day on campus. A little smaller. A little less certain. A little more vulnerable.

Steve hip checks Tony gently as he sidles past him into the room. He makes it a point not to get too far into Tony's space or gawk too much at the trophies and news clippings that line the room. He's supposed to be here as Tony's boyfriend, not his fan, and that means holding him accountable and standing at his side. This is exactly what Tony needs, and for as long as Steve's here, Steve will give it to him. His word is good, dammit, and he's not going to slip up or fuck this up for Tony in any way, shape, or form. This is for him, and Steve's always been a giver.

He doesn't miss the fact that there's only one bed in the room. He doesn't say anything, though. He can already tell that Tony will want to keep up appearances for his parents, or at least for his dad. So he waits until Tony settles on one side of the bed — closer to the window, thankfully — before he starts setting his own bags down. He hefts Tony's bag over the bed to Tony's side, and if there's a flicker of gratitude in the man's face, well, that's more than Steve was expecting.

"You should probably change for dinner," Tony says. "Howard will want to meet you."

"I thought dinner was on Christmas Eve."

"It is. What does that have to do with—" Tony's eyes go wide with horror. "Please don't tell me you were planning on wearing that to dinner tonight."

Steve shrugs, feeling suddenly too big for the room. "I mean. That was the plan."

Tony swears. "Show me what you brought for Christmas dinner." Steve pulls the garment bag out of his luggage and shows it to Tony. Tony's face goes through a series of emotions, before settling on determination. "Alright. Put that on for tonight. We'll go get you some actual Christmas Eve clothes tomorrow. I should've—"

Tony cuts himself off before he can finish that thought, but Steve can guess what he was going to say. He starts to say something, but the desperate look on Tony's face stills his tongue. "I'm not letting you pay for them," Steve finally says.

Tony's face relaxes. "Yes, you are."

Steve isn't going to fight that hard. "Okay," he says, grinning at the way Tony raises an eyebrow at him. "Whatever you want, sweetheart." He smothers a laugh at the way Tony's cheeks go pink, then gives up when Tony chucks a rolled up pair of socks at his head." They're going to be okay. Even if he has to let Tony buy him fancy clothes tomorrow, they'll be okay.

Besides, Tony's the one that didn't give clear enough instructions about what constituted Christmas dinner clothes.

Tony hops in the shower first while Steve works on getting unpacked. It's easy enough to find space in the dresser, almost as though Tony had had someone clear it out before they'd gotten there. He'd have suspected Maria before all of this, but after seeing the way Tony responded to Jarvis, he's the clear winner on that front. Steve folds his running clothes and hangs the garment bag and wonders idly if Tony's going to want him to keep whatever nice clothes he's going to buy tomorrow. It's not that Steve wouldn't be thankful so much as that there's not really anywhere for him to keep those clothes in his tiny apartment back in Boston.

"Shower's all yours."

Steve turns toward Tony and then goes right on turning. "Dammit, Tony, warn a guy!"

Tony laughs. "What, you didn't know you got a ticket to the gun show as part of this deal?"

Steve makes a hoarse sound at that. "Tony—"

"Sorry, tiger." And he does sound sorry. Steve waits until he hears the rustling of a towel before he chances a glance over his shoulder again. Tony's got the towel wrapped around his waist and his back to Steve as he rummages through his closet. "Wouldn't have thought it was a big deal, you being Army and all."

"That's different."

Tony turns to look at him over his shoulder. "How?"

Steve searches for the words to explain it. The camaraderie and the cohesion. The way they'd been a single unit and known each other down to their bones. He doesn't have that with Tony, and he never will.

But he can't say that, so he just makes his way past Tony, staying carefully out of his reach, and into the ensuite. He washes quickly and efficiently, and when he gets out, Tony's still going through his closet.

He turns to look at Steve over his shoulder. "That was fast."

Steve just shrugs. No reason to make a big deal out of his habits. He goes to grab his garment bag and pull the dress shirt and slacks from it. he keeps his back turned as he and Tony dress for dinner. It's a good ten minutes after he's finished dressing when Tony finally appears at his elbow, dressed to the nines and with his sunglasses tucked into his breast pocket. Tony looks at him and makes a little face. "Let me do something with your hair."

Steve's hand goes reflexively to his hair. "What's wrong with my hair?"

"Nothing, if you're planning on serving the hors d'oeuvres at a fundraiser. Now come here."

Steve lets himself be dragged into the ensuite again, but he doesn't let himself lean into Tony's hands as he fusses with Steve's hair. Yes, he's been single for longer than he'd like to admit — since he and Peggy had finally realized that the long-distance thing wasn't going to work — but that doesn't mean he needs to be this touch-starved. And he isn't; Bucky and Clint are tactile enough, and Steve knows he's lucky to have that. But this…this isn't that. This is—

"All done."

Steve opens his eyes, but he doesn't look in the mirror in front of him. Instead, he meets Tony's eyes in the mirror. There's something soft there, soft and a little wistful, and it tightens something in Steve's chest that he doesn't know how to handle.

Before he can look too deeply, though, Tony breaks his gaze. "There. Much better."

Steve glances at his reflection, and he has to admit, his hair certainly does look better… if too much product and an air of pompousness could be considered better. He makes a face. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure that if we're going to have even a chance of getting through this weekend without my dad disowning me, then this is going to be part of the battle. Now, come on, soldier. It's just dinner."

* * *

_Just dinner_ is anything but. Meeting Tony's father is an exercise in awkwardness. When Steve approaches him and holds a hand out to shake, Howard just gives him a sharp once-over before turning away to take his seat at the dining room table. Steve glances at Tony, who looks unsurprised at this turn of events. He loops his arm through Steve's and leads him to the dining room.

Steve tries not to gawk, but he's pretty sure he fails if the way Tony laughs is any indication. It's not malicious, and the sound curls around Steve's ribs to settle like a dragon with its hoard behind his sternum. He smiles down at Tony and, for an instant, he can almost pretend that this isn't just a job. That maybe, in another lifetime he and Tony could have met and actually hit it off as friends. As boyfriends.

But that's a thought for a different day, and right now Steve has a job to do.

Tony seats himself at Howard's right side, pulling Steve to sit on his other side. The meal is easy enough at the start, though it's mostly Steve and Maria that are holding the conversation together. Howard is glaring darkly at Tony, and Tony is all high, false laughter as he listens to Steve talk and gets progressively more intoxicated.

Steve's lost track of how much wine Tony's had by the time he pulls the glass from his hands. The man is getting handsy and altogether too close to him, which was not part of the deal. Kisses and light touches, yes, but Tony's practically groping him under the table, ignoring the way Howard's watching him.

"I think you've had enough, honey," Steve says softly.

"Aww, but Steve, I wasn't done with that."

Howard laughs, but it's cold and harsh in a way that Tony's laughter never is. Steve feels Tony tense beside him, and his eyes are suddenly a lot more sober than they were before.

"Really? All it took was a good dicking to get your drinking in line? I should've known that was all you needed."

Steve bristles, but Tony puts a hand on his arm to still him. Steve swallows down the rage and lets Tony lead.

"You think Steve tells me what to do just because I like taking it up the ass from him?"

Steve carefully doesn't startle. He keeps his gaze steady on Howard and his hand steady at Tony's elbow.

"Of course. God knows no one else has ever managed to keep you in line."

"I'm an adult, Howard, you can't just tell me what to do anymore."

"I certainly can, not that you've ever listened. Who do you think has been doing damage control for all your escapades for the last ten years? Who do you think has been covering your ass? You think that comes for free?"

"Right, just because I have to uphold the Stark name—"

Steve chokes on the bite of roast in his mouth. Tony gives him a strange look, but Steve's too busy trying not to suffocate to figure out what it means. He clears his airway eventually, and carefully doesn't look at Tony.

Fuck. Tony _Stark_. He should have known that name, should have made the connection ages ago, but honestly, he'd glazed over when Rhodes had started threatening him. It's not like Steve had had any ill will toward Tony, and if he'd wanted something to happen to him, he'd certainly have changed his mind after dealing with such an irate best friend. But Tony _Stark_? Fuck, this changes everything.

"Problem, soldier?"

"No," Steve says hoarsely. "No problem."

Tony's scowling at him, and Steve forces himself to relax. He smiles at Tony and bumps his foot against his under the table. This is going to be just fine.

Except his little outburst has brought him under the microscope. The rest of the night is Howard interrogating him about everything from his military service to his degree to how he and Tony met. Tony's face is pointedly calm as Howard speaks, and Steve tries to match his ease as he leans on the cover story Tony had handed him on the plane. When Steve looks a little closer, though, he sees the way Tony's hand is shaking as he reaches for his water glass.

Oh. So this is a big deal, then. Steve sits up a little straighter and meets Howard's eyes head-on as he answers every question the man lobs at him with all the grace and confidence he can muster.

The air is positively icy by the time dinner is over, and Steve knows he's contributed to it in more than one way. But that's what Tony had wanted, right? Steve had looked at the ad Clint had put out. This was what Tony had thought he was getting. Even if Steve had balked at a few of the options Clint had listed, he hadn't backed down from the offer, and this is as good as it's going to get: Steve going toe-to-toe with Tony's arms dealing father over the dinner table. There's not a lot that Steve can do to look nice or dress up his meager background, but this? A verbal standoff over the potatoes? That's something he can do.

* * *

"That was incredible."

Steve blinks at Tony as he shuts the door behind them after dinner. "What?"

"You, going at it with Howard at dinner. That was incredible."

"I didn't do anything, though."

"No, that was perfect." Tony's eyes are shining, and the dragon in Steve's chest lifts its head as though scenting the air. "Just—" He shakes his head and smiles up at Steve. "Thank you."

"No problem. It's what I'm here for, isn't it?"

This seems to have been the wrong thing to say, if the way Tony's face falls is any indication. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess it is." Tony turns away to grab something from his bag and retreats to the ensuite before Steve can correct whatever misstep he's just made. "Anyway, we'll go see Jeremy first thing in the morning to get you fitted for your clothes for Christmas dinner. Might as well get you something else for dinner with Obie tomorrow night while we're at it. Does that sound good to you?"

"As long as you give me time to take my run in the morning, that's fine by me."

Tony hums, and Steve isn't quite sure what to make of the sound. When nothing more seems to be forthcoming, Steve strips and gets into his pajamas. Tony's also dressed for bed when he steps out of the ensuite, and Steve has to bite his tongue not to tease that he'd figured Tony was someone that slept in the nude. He's not sure he wants to poke that bear right now, not when he can't seem to ignore the protective instinct that's overcome him around Tony. Not when he thinks he might even be considering asking the man for a real date when they get back to Boston.

But this isn't the time. Even though Steve's never been the best at timing, this feels like it might be the wrong time to try.

* * *

Jeremy is everything Steve would have expected from the tailor that Tony Stark (and seriously, how did Steve not know that was who he was dealing with sooner?) keeps on retainer. They keep up a rapid-fire conversation around him as Jeremy and his veritable army of helpers measure and pin and generally flit around Steve's form. Jeremy asks his opinion about the clothes exactly once, but Steve's answer must have been so completely wrong as to disqualify him from any further conversation. Jeremy directs all the rest of his questions to Tony, who looks amused at the increasingly desperate looks that Steve's throwing him. Somehow, those looks make the whole thing worth it.

Jeremy shoos them out of his shop after what feels like hours of poking and prodding, and tells them to be back in four hours. It feels like a hell of a rush job, but then, Steve doesn't really have a frame of reference for this. And, to be fair, money talks.

Steve doesn't say any of this to Tony, though. He just falls into step beside him as they wander through the snow-lined streets according to what can only be Tony's whimsy. Steve stays half a step behind him the whole way, enjoying the chance to admire the city without needing to worry too much about where they're going.

Tony pulls him into an electronics shop six blocks away from Jeremy's, and, for the first time, Steve feels like he's seeing the Tony Stark that Bucky always tells him about. There's a childlike glee in his face as he scuttles from aisle to aisle, filling up first one, then two baskets with whatever catches his eye.

"They have all kinds of stuff I can only get in specialty stores," Tony says as he leads Steve to the checkout line, "and Rhodey never lets me out of his sight when we go shopping back in Boston. He never lets me get the good stuff."

"Are you saying I should be putting a stop to this so that Rhodes doesn't have my head when we get back to Boston?"

Tony tosses a grin over his shoulder. "Don't worry, cupcake, I'll keep you safe."

Steve laughs, fully at ease for the first time since he got on that airplane more than twenty-four hours ago. He gets a little ahead of himself, leaning down to kiss Tony. He realizes a second too late what he's doing, and as he catches sight of Tony's wide eyes, he swerves at the last moment, planting the kiss at the corner of his mouth.

It's not like him to get carried away, but something about Tony just _does_ things to him.

He pulls away with a smile. "What's next?"

Lunch, apparently, is the answer to that question. Tony takes them to a nice little bistro and orders for both of them, refusing to let Steve look at the menu.

"You'll just get up in arms about the prices," Tony says. "I saw the way you were trying to get a look at what I paid Jeremy."

"I'm not a charity case."

"I know." Tony's face is soft and understanding. "You're not used to letting other people help you. You're used to doing the helping. But you're already doing so much for me, Steve. Let me do this."

"I'm not in it for the money."

"Which is why I'm willing to give it. End of discussion," he says as the waiter comes to drop off their food. "Now, eat."

They still have another forty-five minutes to kill before they need to be back at Jeremy's, so they wander the few blocks back hand-in-hand. Steve's got the bags of things Tony picked out at the electronics store in his other hand and has shifted to watching Tony more than their surroundings at this point. There's just something about the warmth and ease in Tony's eyes that's infectious, and Steve doesn't bother fighting it.

Tony slows to a stop outside of one shop in particular, and it takes Steve a minute to realize that it's a jewelry store. Steve's stomach clenches; he hadn't thought Tony was serious when he'd mentioned Steve proposing to him at Christmas dinner. He looks down at Tony, ready to say as much, but the wistful look on Tony's face is enough to stop him short.

Well, never let it be said that Steve Rogers isn't a reckless son of a bitch.

"You wanna go in?"

Tony looks up at him. "Y'mean it?"

"Yeah. Yeah, why not? Go big or go home, right?"

"And I take it you're not going home."

Steve grins and kisses the tip of Tony's nose. "Not on your life, hotshot."

Tony laughs and lets himself be pulled into the shop. It's not how Steve saw this day ending, but from the way Tony's face lights up as he looks at the rings on display and picks one that's oddly understated, Steve can't blame him. This really is the best way today could have gone down. Tony's smile is more than worth the bill he knows is going to come due when they get back to Jeremy's.

After all, he's here to support Tony. And isn't making him smile the best way to do that?

* * *

Dinner the second night is no better than the first. Tony's father is sitting, stony-faced at the head of the table when they arrive. Maria sits to his left and another man Steve is introduced to only as "Mr. Stane" to his right. Tony's face pinches at the seating arrangements, but he takes the seat next to Mr. Stane without a second thought, leaving Steve to sit at the much less intimidating Maria's side.

Howard spends most of the night talking to Stane, while Steve lets Maria chatter about anything and everything, telling him stories about Tony when he was younger, and about the way he's grown up. It would be heartwarming if he wasn't also watching the way Tony was going paler and more tense across the table.

Once, Steve reaches out to hook his ankle around Tony's. Tony's eyes cut over to his, and he gives the smallest shake of his head. Steve frowns and relents, letting Tony's foot drop. He barely listens to Maria after that, though he must have been making all the right sounds at all the right points in her stories, because she doesn't stop talking. In fact, no one stops talking until Howard slams his fist down on the table at something Tony had said.

"Dammit, boy, you know better than that."

Tony's face is pinched, and it's all Steve can do not to jump to his defense.

"Come now, Howard," Stane says, something oily in his voice that has Steve immediately on the defensive. "Let the boy have his fun. We all know he'll come 'round sooner or later."

Steve straightens, ready to interject, but Maria beats him to it, cutting that line of conversation off at the pass. "Dessert, anyone?"

Steve doesn't press, but he can see the way Stane is smirking at him knowingly as he lifts his wineglass to his lips. This isn't a fight he's going to back down from easily, but Steve also knows his own limits.

Howard sees Stane to the door after dessert and drinks, loudly reminding him that he's invited to Christmas dinner the next night. Steve clenches his fists until Tony takes them in his, soothing them until their hands are interlaced again. It's in that moment that Steve realizes that if Stane is half as annoying tomorrow night as he was tonight, Steve isn't going to make it through this trip without doing something rash.

That's okay, though. He's here to get Tony's dad as riled up as possible, and if that means he gets a few laughs out of it too, that's just as well.

* * *

Christmas Eve dawns overcast and cold, but Steve still pulls on his running gear at six AM and runs for a solid hour. When he gets back to the mansion, Jarvis eyes him knowingly and nods at the stairs. "Master Stark is still asleep."

Steve nods his thanks and heads up to Tony's room. Tony's curled up so far under the comforters that all Steve can see is a tuft of hair from the top of his head. On a whim, he crawls back under the covers and wraps his arms around Tony's waist. When that gets him no response, he slides his cold fingers underneath his sleep shirt.

Tony squawks and thrashes. Steve laughs and releases him immediately, but the damage is done. Tony's glaring at him from beneath his bedhead, and Steve is a second too slow to completely stop the blow from the pillow in Tony's hand. That just makes him laugh harder, though, and Tony uses his distraction to keep smacking him with the pillow.

"You're an asshole, Rogers," he says, but Steve can hear the amusement in his voice. "I can't believe you.

Steve finally gets himself together enough to wrangle the pillow from Tony. He scrambles out of bed before Tony can get it back from him, leaving Tony to slump down in bed, pouting at Steve.

"That was still rude."

"Yeah," Steve admits, "but now you're up and you can either spend the day getting caught up on all the work I know you're avoiding, or we can go downstairs and annoy the hell out of your dad by cuddling on the couch."

Tony perks up. "Can we do both?"

Steve's stomach clenches at the hope in Tony's voice. He leans in and kisses the tip of Tony's nose. "Both it is."

Tony gathers his things while Steve showers, and then they traipse downstairs to the sitting room. Steve follows Tony's lead, but when he hesitates at the couch, Steve sits down first, pulling Tony into his lap. Tony inhales, going stiff in Steve's arms. He gradually relaxes against Steve, sinking into the rhythm of his work. Steve just watches, enjoying the smooth, easy way that Tony works.

At one point, Steve pulls out his phone to text Clint and Bucky. He loses himself in his phone and the closeness with Tony, and when he comes back to himself he's got his fingers carding through Tony's hair. He stills, but Tony whines and pushes back into his hand, so he resumes. The sun crosses the sky, and it's easy to lose time with Tony in his arms.

Eventually, though, the sun starts to drop low in the sky and the house starts to smell like food. Steve leans down and, conscious of the way Maria's been hovering for the last few minutes, kisses Tony's temple. "Babe." He speaks softly enough that Tony doesn't startle. He turns to Steve and blinks at him slowly. Steve's heart swells. "We should probably go get dressed for dinner."

Tony blinks a few more times, coming back to himself. "Oh. Yeah, I guess we should."

Steve helps Tony to his feet, chuckling as Tony whines about how stiff he is. "That's what you get for not moving for eight hours."

"You didn't move either!"

"Yeah, but I know my body's limits."

Tony keeps grumbling, and it takes all Steve's willpower not to indulge in a kiss once they're safely in the bedroom. They dress in silence, and the doorbell rings twice in the meantime. Tony stiffens at the second ring, and Steve wonders what he isn't saying.

The wondering lasts until they're downstairs and they're greeted not only but Stane, but by two other twenty-somethings, both dressed to the nines.

"Tony!" Stane bellows. "You remember Whitney and Tiberius, don't you?"

Howard looks over at them, a smirk at the corners of his lips, like he knows something they don't. The two newcomers cross the room quickly. Whitney pulls Tony into a hug and kisses him on both cheeks. Tiberius takes his hand in a firm handshake before hauling him into the most awkward approximation of a bro hug he's ever seen.

When the pair release him, Tony's gone stiff beside him, and Steve looks down instinctively. He looks suddenly smaller, dwarfed as he is by the space his family inhabits and the sudden presence of these two interlopers. Steve's heart clenches and any remaining worries he might have had dissipate. Right now, Tony isn't the spoiled little rich boy that he seemed to want Steve to think he was at the beginning. Right now, he's just a son that's terrified of his father's rejection and whatever these two people represent to him.

Steve steps in close, wrapping an arm around Tony's waist. He holds a hand out to Tiberius. "I don't think we've been introduced."

"Steve, this is Ty Stone," Tony says. Steve doesn't miss the way Tony curls up against him. "Ty, Steve."

"Pleasure," Tiberius says, but his smirk is icy as he extends his own hand.

"The pleasure is mine." Steve takes Tiberius's hand a bit more firmly than strictly necessary. Tiberius winces.

"And I'm Whitney Frost."

Steve takes her hand as well, lifting it to his lips and kissing her knuckles. She simpers, and Steve's stomach rolls. He pulls away and leans down to whisper in Tony's ear. "So these two seem like a hoot."

Tony whips his head around to look at Steve. When he catches the sarcasm in Steve's expression, Tony relaxes into his arms. "Yeah," he whispers. "They're a riot."

"Okay!" Maria says, seeming to sense the way this night is going awry fast. "Dinner."

Stane leads the way into the dining room. Tiberius and Whitney make their way to the dining room as though they own it. Steve and Tony follow at a leisurely pace, which ends up being a mistake.

When they get into the room, there are only three empty seats. One at Howard's right hand — Stane's, to be sure — and the other two are right across from each other. Before Steve can even open his mouth, Stane is steering Tony to the seat between him and Whitney. Tiberius smirks up at Steve as he hovers.

"You gonna sit down, Steve?"

Steve takes measured steps across the room. He pulls out the chair between Tiberius and Maria and sits down, his eyes on Tony the whole time. _I'm here_ , he tries to convey with his eyes. If the way Tony relaxes is any indication, he understands.

Steve lets the conversation wash over him as they eat. No one seems particularly interested in him at all, and he can focus on keeping Tony grounded. His foot hooked around Tony's ankle, nudging different platters of food across the table toward him. Anything to remind him that he's not alone. There's gratitude on Tony's face every time their eyes meet, but he can still see the way Tony's shoulders are raised to his ears. All he wants is to work his hands into Tony's shoulders and release that tension.

And that's when he hears it.

"Maybe if Tony had a better head on his shoulders—"

"Excuse me?"

Everyone turns to look at Steve with varying degrees of surprise. It's Howard that speaks, his tone heated. "I just said that if Tony had a better head on his shoulders and stopped waisting his time on unnecessary—"

"Tony's brilliant."

"Well of course _you_ would think that," Howard scoffs, "but—"

"No, I mean he's objectively brilliant. He was top of his class at MIT, and now he's doing research that most people wouldn't dream of achieving before hitting thirty, let alone twenty-one. My brother is one of the test subjects in his work with prosthetics, and he's never better than when he's still got one of Tony's prototypes on his arm. Tony's revolutionizing the way the world works, and he's only just getting started. I don't see how that could be anything _but_ brilliant."

Howard stares at Steve as though he's only just now seeing him. "And that's all well and good when he's in school, but—"

"But you want him making weapons and going into working the military-industrial complex," Steve says smoothly. "As a product of that not-so-little machine, let me just say that what Tony is doing will do more to help vets and active duty military than any weapon advancement he can dream up." Steve looks over at Tony, meeting his wide eyes directly. "He's saving lives, Mr. Stark, and I daresay that's more than most people at this table can say."

The silence rings through the room. Steve doesn't take his eyes off of Tony, and he doesn't miss the way his lip starts to tremble.

Howard drops his cutlery to his plate loudly enough to shatter the quiet. "Mister Rogers—"

"It's Captain, actually."

"What?"

"My rank. It's Captain."

"What does that have to do with—"

"Is it no longer typical to refer to veterans by their rank? I would have assumed that you of all people would know the proper terms to use."

As Howard blusters, Jarvis sweeps in to stand at Maria's shoulder. "Shall I clear the table, Madam?"

"Certainly, Jarvis," she says.

Steve gets to his feet at those words, an offer to help with the dishes ready on his lips, but Maria puts a hand in his elbow. "Don't worry about all that, Steven. Let's adjourn to the sitting room." She looks over at Howard, who's glaring at Tony as he takes a last sip of his water. "I'm sure Tony hasn't had the chance to play a proper grand piano while he's been at school."

Tony's face flushes at that. "Mom—"

"Yes," Stane says, laying a strong hand on Tony's shoulder. The ease of the touch makes the hair on Steve's arms stand on end. "Play for us. I'm sure Steve would like that too."

Tony looks over at him, his eyes betraying nothing. That doesn't mean Steve can't read him like a book; the slight tremble in his jaw is enough to tell Steve everything. He relaxes his expression into a smile and raises an eyebrow at Tony. "Whatever you want to do, sweetheart. I've heard you play before, and I know you'll play for me again. This is about you and your family tonight. You just tell me what you want to do and we'll do it."

"Steve—"

"Splendid!" Stane says. He turns to Whitney. "You know, Whitney is quite skilled on piano as well, perhaps you two could—"

"No." Steve hasn't taken his eyes off of Tony's, and he'd seen the flicker of doubt at those words. "No, I think I'd like to hear Tony play on his own." Tony's eyes widen, and Steve knows this is the right move. He looks up at Stane, a placid smile on his face. "He's so reluctant to play for me back home in Boston. If he really is up for playing, I'd like to hear him play on his own."

Somehow, this is the right thing to say. Tony sits up a little straighter, his spine lengthening with confidence and power. Steve relaxes. "Sure," Tony says. "I know just the thing."

Steve refuses the brandy that Stane offers him as they settle in the sitting room. Steve positions himself as close to the piano as possible, his whole body turned toward Tony. He's going to have to pretend that he's heard this before, that he knows what Tony's musicianship is like, but even though that won't be easy, he's going to do his damnedest. 

Then Tony puts fingers to keys and Steve knows pretending is out of the question.

Steve's enthralled. Watching Tony move with the music, watching the way it seems to possess him the way only music ever can, is more than Steve is prepared for. Tony could almost be one of the fae that his mother used to tease him about, ethereal and pure. Steve's throat goes tight. He's not sure if he makes a sound or if Tony just _knows_ him this well already, but Tony opens his eyes, meeting Steve's. Steve can't read his expression, but he can _feel_ the music in a way that he hadn't felt it before. Tony's sending every note and breath into Steve's soul, connecting in a way that Steve had forgotten was possible. Tony plays and plays and Steve can barely breathe through the warmth in his chest, the desperation in his stomach. This. This is what he's been looking for, and for this man to be his now, seated in front of him with Steve's heart in his hands… it's nothing he'd ever thought could happen to him.

It isn't until Stane claps from somewhere to Steve's left that he realizes that Tony's stopped playing. Tony startles and the spell is broken as he looks over at Stane. Steve watches as Tony's shields go right back up, and it's all he can do not to cross the room and pull Tony in close to bring that look back.

The thought startles him. He has to shake himself, remind himself that this isn't real. That this is just a guy — albeit, a very rich guy that Steve now has a vested interest in keeping happy — that's paying Steve for a service.

Steve startles to his feet at that, beating Stane across the room to Tony's side. He pulls Tony in close and kisses the corner of his mouth. "That was beautiful, sweetheart."

Tony shivers, and Steve can't help but kiss him again. When he starts to pull away, Tony catches him by the base of his neck and pulls him in close for a deep, lingering kiss. Steve's knees go weak, and he has to fight to keep his feet underneath him. He traces his thumbs over Tony's cheeks as he eases away, gentling the kiss until there's nothing left. He opens his eyes, only half-remembering when he'd closed them, and looks down at Tony.

Tony's face is beautiful, his eyelashes a fan over his cheekbones and his lips half-parted. It's enticing, the picture of bliss, and Steve starts to lean in for another kiss when Howard interrupts.

"Anthony. We have company."

Tony startles and pulls away. Steve doesn't let him get too far away, one hand wrapping tight around his waist when he tries to separate completely. Tony tosses him a quizzical glance, but Howard speaks again before Tony can give anything away.

"Really, Anthony, you should know better than to—"

"Than to what? Kiss my boyfriend? You wouldn't be saying that if he was a woman."

Howard blusters, his cheeks red with a combination of anger and alcohol, but Stane steps in smoothly. "Come now, Howard. Let the boy have his fun. He'll grow out of it sooner or later."

Steve tightens his grip on Tony's hip. "Grow out of love, Mr. Stane? I daresay that's a terribly bleak view of life."

Tony goes still beside him, but Steve only has eyes for the pitying look on Stane's face. It makes his blood boil.

"Now, now, Steven, I'm sure you understand. The whole world can't be as liberal as Boston is. There are certain standards to be upheld. Our Tony can't really expect his dalliances to last his whole life. At some point he will need to settle down. Marry. Have children. You can't possibly think you're man enough for that job."

Steve expects to feel the anger curdle in his chest. Expects to feel all the rage and frustration that he knows Tony must be feeling. If he'd been asked three days ago what he would have said or done had someone attacked Tony's freedom of choice like this, he'd have been certain that he'd make good on Clint's offer of a fistfight.

Instead, all Steve feels when he looks down at Tony is a radiating sense of calm. Calm at the carefully hidden fear and hopelessness in his eyes. Calm at the way he's all but shaking in Steve's arms. He looks down at Tony and he knows. This isn't a battle won with words. This is a battle won with action.

And Steve's always been a man of action.

"I don't think that's for you to decide, Mr. Stane," Steve says without taking his eyes off of Tony's. "I think that's up to Tony." Then, without so much as a hint of what he's about to do, Steve goes down to one knee. He slides his palm along Tony's arm to take one hand in his while the other goes to his pocket. He can only watch with a distant sort of amusement as Tony's eyes go wide with disbelief.

Steve just smiles back.

"I don't know what the world has in store for us, Tony. I don't know what the future holds. But I know that there's no one else in the world I want to spend the rest of my life with. If that means everything your family thinks it means — a life here, a marriage, a family, then I would be glad to fulfill that role. I would do anything to make you happy, Tony, and I don't know if this is what would make you happy, but I know that I would give you this in a heartbeat." Steve pulls the ring out of his pocket — the one that Tony had bought for himself on a whim, that Steve had stowed away when he'd been sure Tony was distracted enough not to miss it, and holds it out. He pops the little box open and meets Tony's eyes. But Tony isn't looking at the ring. He's looking at Steve as though he'd never seen him before. Steve smiles. "Anthony Edward Stark. Will you marry me?"

The room is deathly silent. Steve knows Tony didn't sign up for this. He knows they didn't talk about this. Knows it was mostly a joke when he'd bought the ring.

But right here, right now, with Tony staring at him with awe in his eyes, Steve knows it was the right call.

He doesn't press, no matter how much he wants to. He needs this to be Tony's decision, Tony's choice above and beyond all else. Steve has nothing left riding on this moment, nothing but the warmth in Tony's eyes and the hope in his smile.

"Yes." The word comes, breathless and impossibly soft as Steve's heart surges in his chest. Still, he waits until the smile breaks like the dawn over Tony's face. "Yes, Steve, I will marry you."

The room is sound and fury around them, but Steve reaches up to turn off his hearing aid as he gets to his feet. He doesn't need his ears to know how grateful Tony is. Doesn't need his ears to understand that this is what they both need, what they both want. A definitive act in the face of Howard's blind hatred. A commitment to the man that Steve has learned Tony actually is. This… this is what they've wanted from the start, and Steve isn't afraid to hide from that anymore. This is a chance, but if it's for Tony... well, there isn't a lot he wouldn't do.

It isn't until someone grabs him by the shoulder and pulls him off of Tony that he realizes just how drunk Howard must be. All at once, he regrets turning off his hearing aid, because there's Howard's fist connecting with his cheekbone, and now Steve's moving on instinct alone, bringing a knee up to connect with Howard's groin before elbowing him in the ribs. Tony goes tense behind him, and Steve catches himself before he does any more damage. He glances over his shoulder at Tony, but he only has eyes for Steve. He reaches up to pull Steve into a kiss.

"Well, come on, then," he whispers against Steve's lips. "Put that ring on me."

Steve laughs, his heart swelling in his chest as he snags the ring box from where he'd instinctively dropped it on the floor. He pulls the ring out and slides it over Tony's ring finger, his heart thudding in his chest. Tony laughs, and leans up to kiss Steve's lips. "Love you," Steve says.

Tony hums. "Let's go upstairs."

"What, you don't want me to make nice with your dad first?"

"Nah. I figure that can wait until the morning.

Steve laughs and lets himself be led upstairs, not bothering to look back to see what Whitney and Tiberius have to say about anything.

* * *

When they get upstairs, Tony goes to his bathroom to grab the first aid kit. He rummages through it and starts rubbing cream on Steve's bruise from the hit Howard landed before he asks. When he speaks, he's pointedly not looking at Steve. "Why'd you do it?"

"Do what?"

Tony gives him a harsh look. "You know what I mean."

Steve holds Tony's gaze until the weight of the words is too much. "Because I'd never let anyone talk about my best fella that way."

"What," Tony asks lightly, "even if he was just me?"

"Yes, Tony." Steve reaches for Tony's chin when he doesn't meet his eyes. "Especially if he was you."

Tony goes quiet and goes back to massaging the cream into Steve's cheek. Steve wants so badly to pull Tony to him, to make him understand, but if he's learned anything over these last few days, it's that Tony doesn't come when forced. He comes in his own time.

It isn't until Tony's content with Steve's face that he lets Steve pull him to bed. Steve slides into bed, pulling Tony after him. He waits until Tony's body is lax with sleep before he asks.

"What was that you played?"

"Hmm?"

"On the piano. What was that?"

"Oh. That. It was nothing."

Steve pulls Tony in closer toward him, nosing at the fine hairs at the base of Tony's neck. "It was something. Tell me. Please?" he adds when Tony tenses in his arms.

Tony hesitates, then relaxes. "It was Tchaikovsky."

Steve hums. It means nothing to him, but from the soft, reverent way Tony speaks the name, it means something to him.

"No one likes to talk about how— well, there's lots that people don't like to talk about when it comes to classical musicians, but with him, there's been lots of debate around his sexuality. The way that's all been erased… I don't know. It just seemed appropriate."

Steve's heart aches. "What was that piece called?"

"Romance, in F Minor."

Steve lets the words sink in before he pulls Tony in closer and, feeling suddenly daring, kisses the back of his neck. Tony shivers in his arms. "Daring, wouldn't you say?"

"Of course it was." Tony's voice is whisper-soft, and Steve bites his lip to distract from the way it gets to him in his pores. "But you're worth it, Rogers."

"Yeah?"

Tony nods and burrows deeper into Steve's arms. "Yeah."

"You are too, Tony. More than worth it."

"What, no _Stark_ anymore?"

"No." Steve smiles and kisses Tony's neck again. "You're more than your family, Tony. You're your own man, and that has to matter more than anything else in the world."

"You really think so?"

Steve closes his eyes and curses Howard yet again for the uncertainty he'd planted in Tony's mind. Steve manhandles Tony onto his other side, ignoring the indignant squawk he lets out. Once they're facing one another, Steve waits until Tony's head tips up to look at him. "I do, Tony. I can't say I'm definitely ready for marriage or anything—"

"Oh god, no, I should hope not."

"—but I will say that I want to try with you. I don't think you've ever let anyone see the real you except for Rhodes, but you've let me in these last three days. You've let me see you. Really see you." Steve tucks a lock of hair behind Tony's ear, lets his fingers linger there as he tilts Tony's face up into a kiss. "I want to try. You're worth it, Tony, and if you'll let me, I'll prove it to you."

Tony's breath hitches. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Tony buries his smile in the crook of Steve's neck. "Alright, then. I guess I can give you a chance."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Because I'm gonna make it worth your while."

"I know you will. I daresay you've never met a challenge you backed down from."

"No. And I won't start with this relationship."

"What, you don't think I'm the challenge?"

"No, Tony. I think that any relationship is a challenge, and I'd love to find the path with you."

"Okay, tiger." Tony says, laughing as he pulls Steve in close to kiss his forehead. "Just take it easy."

"What? We cuddled all day today, and now you don't even want to make out with me?"

Tony stills. "Wait, that's what you're angling for?"

"What else would it be?"

"I dunno. I figured—" Tony pulls back to look at Steve. "I figured you were after sex."

"What? No, Tony, of course not. I'd want to take you on a few dates before that. Damn, no, I just…" Steve tucks a lock of Tony's hair behind his ear. "I just wanted to kiss you a little. But if that's too much—"

"No," Tony says. He pulls Steve in close and kisses his lips. "No, a little kissing sounds perfect."

"Yeah?"

Tony bites his lip and nods eagerly. "Yeah. So come on then. Kiss me."

And for once in his life, Steve doesn't even need the threat of mistletoe to kiss someone on Christmas Eve. All he needs is the boy in his arms to make everything worth it.


End file.
